


someday

by queensimmons



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Gen, Grey's Anatomy References, Hamilton References, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death, season 5, starts off sad grows really fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-03 07:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14563824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensimmons/pseuds/queensimmons
Summary: “Darling, you grew up.” He says smiling, brushing back a soft chestnut curl with his shaky wrinkled hand.She takes his other hand in hers and smiles, “I did.”"It's a shame, it’s awful being a grown up.”She strokes the back of his pale hand and he looks around the empty room, a single yellow light placed right above the bed shines on the two of them. He turns over and meets his daughter's wet eyes.“Did we do it?” He whispers, voice withering. “Did we save the world?”-They have to fix this.





	1. i'm dedicating everyday to you

**Author's Note:**

> I actually have (most of) everything written so I'm not lying this time when I say I will finish this! I aim to produce at least 2/3 chapters a week and get this finished before the season finale.
> 
> based around Hamilton songs "It's Quiet Uptown" and "Dear Theodosia" + reprise

_I’m dedicating every day to you_   
_Domestic life was never quite my style_   
_When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart_   
_And I thought I was so smart_

xx

Down the stairs and through the hallway, rubble and debris cover the concrete floors. Dim yellow lights swing slowly back and forth above the abandoned hallway, cold hands meet cold walls as another painful contraction hits.

Fitz pauses when Jemma braces herself against the wall. He moves his thumb to massage her hand, hoping that in the midst of everything the small movement provides her a bit of relief, of comfort. With one hand braced against the wall and the other wrapped in her husbands, Jemma takes two deep breaths.

_In and out_ , she tells herself.  _In and out_.

The contraction passes, much quicker than before, much quicker than she would like. Jemma brings a hand to her overly swollen belly and rubs through the black fabric of her tank top. With his free hand, Fitz places it upon Jemma’s and soothes their baby with her.

“I’m alright, Fitz.” She assures him. “Let’s keep going.”

Fitz pulls his hand away and brings it to the top of her back. He nods and helps her waddle over the crushed pieces of the lighthouse.

Eventually, they make it to the med bay, incredibly over packed and incredibly understaffed. Bruised and bleeding agents rest upon each of the cots, some bleeding more profusely and some more dire than others. The world seems to move slowly as Fitz leads Jemma across the lab into an empty room.

For the first time, her eyes actually intake the world, the life, around her in a way she hadn’t before.

Two field agents sit side by side, smushed together on a single bed. The shorter one - the younger one - holds a tainted towel to his face. A gash, about the size of a straw, stretches from his hairline to his bottom lip, it’s passageway straight through his eye. The man next to him, taller and older, yet frailer, holds his arm and taps his leg. He bites his bottom lip in an attempt not to cry over the bullet splitting his Ulna in two.

Off to the side, a woman coughs up blood as a nurse runs her back and holds her hair, seemingly unsure of what else to do. A doctor, tall and lean, shouts out orders for what’s left of the withered staff. A young girl who can’t possibly be older than 17 begins wheezing. She tries to scream, tries to yell for help in between shoving the dirt out of her lungs. She clutches at her chest and cries, a terrified, undeserving cry. It drags through the room and soon becomes the only source of sound ringing in Jemma’s ears. Time moves slowly and life drags its feet through honey. Somehow - somewhere between the cries and the shouts, Jemma finds herself in a quiet room lit by a string of artificial lights.

She is led to the bed and Fitz’s warm fingers brushing against her cheek brings her back to the present. She jumps back slightly and breathes in harshly.

“I can’t do this, Fitz. I can’t do this.” She begins to push herself back off the bed, shaking her head violently and attempting not to wince at the oncoming contraction. Betrayed by her own body, Jemma kneels over in pain. Immediately, Fitz is at her side, one hand on her back and the other supporting her arm. When it passes, tears of heartache roll past the constellation of freckles upon Jemma’s ghostly cheeks. Her lip quivers and lungs ache. She can’t breathe. She can’t  _breathe_.

_Breathe_

“Fitz, please this is too much!” She cries. Fitz looks at her with worry and Jemma just barely notices May standing silently in the corner of the room, the smallest hint of concern on her face, too.

He tries to soothe her. He whispers into her ear and holds her hands in his, he embraces her but pulls away when he notices she doesn’t want the contact.

“I think we made a mistake, Fitz.” She says quietly, unable to meet his eyes. As the words exit her lips, she can physically feel the stab in his heart, the air being sucked out of the room.

“Jemma…” He trails, unsure of what to say, unsure of what she could even be referring to.

“Fitz, look around. Look at where we are, hiding in an underground bunker from the authorities, on the brink of an alien invasion. We’re trapped, Fitz, we’re confined to these for walls this is all we have! This is all she gets!” Her voice suddenly goes still, the fate of the situation lies heavy between them. Jemma wipes away a tear and meets her husbands gaze with a helpless, empty smile.

“She’ll never see the sun.” Her voice cracks and breaks in a way she’s never heard before. Fitz, now with tears of his own, looks at his wife, so incredibly broken and so incredibly small, and it makes his heart ache. His vessels constrict as he notices the circles under her eyes, dark and puffy, draining all the light that once shone brightly in her. His tendons pull as he sees her - actually sees her: Her body frail, yet not fragile, weak but carrying the weight of the ocean upon her shoulders. Her shoulders, worn from holding sorrowful heads, her hands, calloused and cold from climbing out of the darkest holes, her eyes, tired, just so,  _so_  tired. Her skin is pale, a different pale, and there’s no sun Fitz realizes. There’s no sun.

Fitz leans closer to her and she melts into him, a small sob crawls out of her throat. But before she can get another word out, a contraction hits and her body tenses under him. He helps her onto the bed, slowly easing her back and attempting to relieve her pain with a few nearby lumpy pillows. When the pain subsides, she visibly relaxes. Fitz takes a step towards her and cups her face.

“She doesn’t have nothing,” Fitz says sternly, yet not angry.

“She has  _us_. She has me and you, she has Coulson and Mack and May and Daisy and Yo-Yo, Jemma, she has more aunties than we know what to do with.”

Jemma’s trembling lips quirk up into a small smile.

“Maybe she won’t get to roll down grassy hills and maybe she won’t get to sit up and watch the sunrise Jemma,” he pauses, sadly soaking in his own words.

“If we can’t give her the world, then we’ll build her a new one.”

A few more tears fall from Jemma’s cheeks but she beams brightly.

“We’ll give her everything.” Jemma murmurs. Fitz nods.

“If she wants to dance, I’ll give her the floor. If she wants to play, she’ll find a swing set in her room, if she cries Jemma, if she cries, we’ll be there. We’ll always be there. Maybe we can’t give her the Earth, but we make her a new sky and she will be happy. She will always be so happy.”

Fitz brings his hands to wipe the tears from her face and she lets out a watery laugh.

“She has love.”

Fitz smiles and strokes her hair. “Yeah,” he says back to her. “She has love.”

  
xx

  
_“Her cervix is dilated 7 centimeters, shouldn’t be long now.”_  
_-_  
_“Wait, Jemma stop pushing! Fitz look, I see a foot.”_  
_-_  
_“Hey, stay with us, stay with us...”_  
_-_  
_“She’s hemorrhaging! Turn this room into an E.R now!”_  
_-_  
_“Hey Jemma, you’re going to be okay love.”_

xx

 

She is born into a world too big and too cold for her. Unfamiliar arms carry her and sweaty palms pass her around quickly. The room is loud, yelling and crying and praying fills the air and Amelia wonders what happened to her home. What happened to the warmth? The protection? Sudden brightness hitting her eyes, she does the only thing she knows how - she cries.

xx

  
_“Shh, I know I know. I need her too.”_

  
xx

  
She’s lying peacefully atop a bundle of off-white cotton and fleece blankets in a woven bassinet, the single, swinging, yellow light flickers above her. She opens her eyes and squints against the beams in an attempt to push away the harsh glare. A wail feels the room and shuffling feet near closer and closer.

Rough, warm hands brush against her smooth skin and soon she feels a different fabric, scratchy and unforgiving, pressed against her. She cries more and more, unsure of why - of what she wants them to do.

Fitz is slumped over in a chair when he hears her, eyes rimmed red and tears gone dry, he releases the limp hand that he was so desperately holding onto.

He lets go reluctantly and treads over to the bassinet. After lifting his distressed daughter out of her bed, Fitz presses her gently against his chest and bounces around lightly.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” He soothes her, mostly unsure of what else to do. He grazes his finger over Amelia’s soft, rosy cheeks and wipes away fallen tears. It takes a moment, but soon the roaring cries dwindle down to feeble whimpers. Her lips tremble as she stares up into the deep blue eyes of her father. He cries over her, silently. His shoulders shake and he hurriedly brings his unoccupied hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose before wiping the salty water away from his cheeks. He sniffs, loud and violent. The sound causes an uneasy feeling to bubble in Amelia's stomach and with slowly parting lips, a long wail eases it's away out. A bit took aback, Fitz immediately sucks down his feelings and apologizes profusely to the newborn. He apologizes for upsetting her, for scaring her. He expresses his regret in hurting her, for the world she is doomed to grow up in.

"If you keep going like that, she'll never stop crying."

Fitz turns his head back towards the cot and sees Jemma grinning at him smugly. Her eyes are droopy and voice hoarse, but her face is warm with tender fondness. She lifts her pale hand off the lumpy bed under her and waves it, signaling Fitz forward.

He walks towards her, careful not to upset the small being in his arms again. Jemma readjusts herself in the bed, using her tired limbs to support her body and then allowing the tension in her spine to soften against the pillows. Fitz sits back in the metal chair beside her.

They stare at each other for a moment in complete silence, each trying to absorb every detail, every fact that has come to light over the course of the last few days. 

The past week's events have been ... overwhelming,  to say the least, and neither seems to want to address the elephant in the room.

Jemma's the one to speak first. Her eyes wet with unshed tears.

"Fitz," She says, then stops, because what else can she say? I'm here? I scared you? I love you? I'm sorry? No set of words seem to be sufficient enough to wipe away the darkness of the past few days.

"I was scared, Jemma," Fitz admits truthfully. " You were there bleeding out, and I couldn't save you. I couldn't save you." The last of his words trail off as thick emotions get caught in his throat. Jemma reaches over for his hand and offers him a sorry expression. He interlaces his fingers with hers and takes a shuddering breath.

"You died, Jemma." He says it plainly, as emotionless as he could manage. He fails at this, his voice hiccups and his body trembles again. He moves closer to her and she falls into him, both careful not to hurt the bundle between them. Rivers pool from their eyes and they both sob openly, unable to quit if they tried.

"I'm here now Fitz," Jemma snivels, pulling back. Strands of sticky hair cling to the sweat of their foreheads as they pull apart. The small wad between them yawns loudly. Realizing where they are, they wipe their faces and Jemma releases a shaky laugh. "Why hello there," Jemma says to the warm bundle of fleece. "I don't believe we've met."

With another sniffle, Fitz mimics her watery laugh and adjusts himself to place Amelia in Jemma's arms.

The little girl stares up at her mother with the same wide, curious hazel eyes. She blinks and looks around at the world above her and burrows herself deeper into the cavity of her mother's arm.

Gentle fingers tug against the soft cotton surrounding the baby's face. Jemma's heart clutches in awe at sight of the tiny bundle of peach skin and wrinkled limbs. Jeweled, watery eyes gaze down upon the newborn and Jemma wonders what could she have possibly done to deserve something so beautiful, so innocent. In her arms, she holds the physical manifestation of love and hope and with every beat of her heart, Jemma promises to never let go.

The new mother traces two fingers along her daughter's plump cheeks, button nose, and downy hair in an attempt to memorize every physical aspect that makes her daughter  _hers_.

Soft coos of endearment and smiles of hope fill the squished room. The newfound family of three lay side by side, completely enamored with the new promise of a new beginning.

Later, when the lights dim and the bustle of bunker slows, Fitz and Jemma lay awake in bed propped up by lumpy pillows. Amelia suckles slowly on her mother as the calm tone of the room washes over her. Her eyes slowly begin to drift shut as Jemma rubs the chestnut hair sprouting from the top of her head. 

"I think she's getting sleepy," Jemma states to her husband before taking a long yawn of her own. Fitz looks over at the digital clock on the wall and realizes it's half past midnight. 

"Yeah," He agrees. "It's getting pretty late, I can switch with you if you'd like?" Fitz gestures to the bottles set aside near the miniature fridge. Jemma shakes her head but smiles gratefully. 

A beat passes.

"We have to fix this, Fitz," Jemma breathes, voice hardly above a whisper. She brings her hand to wipe the tired and sadness from her eyes, if only she could wipe away the worry of what's to come.

Next to her, she hears the rustle of Fitz's button up brush against the fabric from the chair. He nods and hums in agreement.

"We will," he promises. "We have to."

xx

She is born into a world with too many unknowns and too many possibilities. A warm set of arms carry her over to a handcrafted crib and her body relaxes against the soft touch of a fleece blanket. It is quiet and restful, gentle baritone murmurs exist as the only fount of sound. Promises of a brighter tomorrow and stronger foundations ease their way into Amelia's ears and finally have found the warmth of her home, she does the only thing that feels right - she rests.

xx

Fitz sits at the metal desk with a pen in hand and listens to the soft snores of his wife and child sleeping peacefully behind him. As he listens, his fingers work through equations and sketches prototypes in his attempt to build a better future. A future with an ocean and a meadow, science fairs and swing-sets, Fitz imagines a future they deserve, that  _she_  deserves. The corners of his lips quirk up at the hope for a better life but Fitz shakes his head. Now is not for dreaming, now is for doing. Sneaking one last glance at his daughter, Fitz shoves away any wandering thoughts and focuses in on his main goal.

"I'll fix this," he promises. "I'll fix this for you."


	2. we'll bleed and fight for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest chapter of them all. Special thanks to @besidemethewholedamntime on tumblr for taking the time to beta a section of this. All other mistakes my own

The first time he catches her, she’s wandering the lab, hands coated blue and face stained yellow. Her crooked teeth shine brightly as she waddles around, seemingly unbothered by what Fitz _hopes_ is paint matting her curls.

Fitz walks into the unoccupied room and sees Jemma laying at a desk, her head on her sleeve and body limp, meek snores surround the air above her. Shades of red and orange cover her hands and blouse, her favorite blouse Fitz comes to realize. He is only able to shake his head in amusement.

“Amelia?” He calls out into the empty lab and the self-proclaimed giggles halt. Fitz watches as she begins to move slowly, attempting to make herself as inconspicuous as possible to avoid trouble. But Fitz, having been here before, knows all too well the tricks his two-year-old uses, after all, where could she have got them from?

Fitz steps closer to her and she crosses her arms over her chest and pouts her lips. Fitz lifts her from the ground and holds her arm’s length away. She still pouts and avoids looking into his eyes. Fitz smirks and slowly draws her closer. He presses a kiss to the side of her cheek, leaving his lips tinted lemon. The small girl tries to hide her smile so Fitz kisses her again and again and again. Unable to contain it any longer, a whimsical burst of laughter explodes from the little girl.

“Stop it! Stop it!” She cries playfully. Fitz spins her around in the air and Amelia has never felt so elated. They play like that for a while, an airplane, a tickle monster, an art teacher: Fitz becomes whatever she wants.

Overjoyed, yet out of breath, Fitz sets her back down on the tile floor. A loud snort, almost that of a hog, comes from the nearby desk as Jemma pops her head up hastily. She looks around in a white panic before seeing her husband and toddler sitting together, faces red, on the floor. She tilts her head in confusion and looks around.

“What time is it?” She asks, a long yawn escaping from her throat. Fitz looks at his watch.

“Half past noon,” He replies and then turns to look at her. “I see you had fun?"

Fitz pulls himself off the ground and with Amelia in his arms, he walks over towards Jemma. He bends down and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“Amelia and I were painting,” Jemma murmurs, a bit distorted. She reaches over and holds up a messy drawing of what appears to be vials of science tubes surrounded by splatters of black and white. “She wants to be a scientist in space Fitz, isn’t that funny?”

The ironic comment gets a laugh out of Fitz and he sighs then turns back to his daughter. “ _You,_ ” he stresses, pulling her close again. “Can be whatever you want. Okay, Monkey?” He places another big kiss to her spotted cheeks and she laughs again, this time tired and content.

“Come on,” Fitz gestures. “Let’s get you both to bed.”

Jemma slugs her way out of the hair and Fitz brings his arm around her waist. He leads them both back to the bunk and Jemma immediately curls into a ball on the bed. Her arms reach out for Amelia and when her daughter finds her way home, Jemma holds her close, whispering sweet nothings into her messy hair as they snuggle and drift off to sleep.

Fitz smiles at the sight of the love of his life and greatest creation existing as one unity in front of him. His heart swells and a grin dances across his lips as he turns to leave.

The engineer finds himself back in the lab surrounded by a mess of colors. _Jemma would hate this_ , he thinks to himself. If only she wasn’t so dazed.

Fitz begins to tidy up the lab, rearranging the equipment and spraying down the surfaces. He wipes off glasses and sweeps away discarded shreds of paper. To be honest, Fitz is quite surprised Jemma even allowed play time in her pristine workspace in the first place. Then again, she did seem extremely exhausted and probably hadn’t slept in a long while. When Fitz reaches down to organize her desk, his eyes intake the array of papers before him.

Most are pointless doodles scattered about, blobs of paint and colorful sketches cover them. A few are discarded schematics, Fitz notices. He picks one up and reads the failed equations scribbled on the graph paper, shaking his head at the realization Jemma must’ve been up all night, racking her head in the attempt to better the outcome of their future. Next to her pile of botched plans, a single painting rests.

The picture is scribbled in black, yellow stars with pencil outlines cover the dark sky and underneath them rests a tall red and white building. There’s a rocky ocean coast in the picture too, eight bodies surround it smiling happily, three of them hold science tubes in their hands. Fitz smiles at the picture, yet a frown tugs at his corners as he realizes the life his daughter has been confined to: no windows, no grass, no sun, and the same four walls. He looks around at the floor laced with toys and brushes thinks he is doing the best he can with what he has, but it is not good enough. She deserves more, she deserves better.

Fitz sits down in the metal chair and yanks out a fresh piece of paper. With a blue pen in hand, he begins thinking. His brain lists out anything and everything he can think of that may just alter the future even slightly for the better. His eyes scan his work and grow increasingly frustrated with each tossed paper. It’s not working. _None_ of it is working. Is this really the fate they’re destined to face?

Fitz looks back over at the drawing and sees the brightest smile on the smallest girls face as she holds the materials under the stars. It’s a little ironic after all, the girl destined to live in a dark base in the middle of the Milky Way wants to be a scientist-astronaut. It also appears she loves the beach, though having never stepped a foot into the fresh air.

He has to push these thoughts aside, he has to focus.

And so he does, only occasionally allowing himself a glimpse of the photo to remember what type of future he’s fighting for.

xx

Crayon scribbles that do not belong to Amelia covers Fitz’s desk. He glances at them, at the heavy use of red and grey, but he is so preoccupied collecting enough tokens to give his daughter the best sixth birthday he can manage. Underneath the table he happens to find some spare change and cheers himself on in his head. Without another look back, he dashes out the room and down the hall, leaving Robin’s picture of stray tables and dark walls in his wake.

xx

Amelia is in her room resting upon the burgundy covers with a biology textbook in her palms when Fitz approaches by the bunk.

Fitz listens by the door to her light mutterings; It appears she is attempting to sound out the words.

“ _M-M-Micro-sc- Microscopic! Or-organisms…”_

He listens as she attempts to find the college textbook. His heart feels with fondness with every pronunciation for she only turned seven a week ago and is already better at reading than Fitz was in grade six. Out of the peripheral of his eye, a small shadow nears closer. He reaches his arm out to hold her back, fingers gently clasping around Jemma’s wrist. She narrows her eyes in confusion and Fitz brings his index to his lips.

“Listen,” he whispers to her. Jemma still doesn’t know what’s happening or the big deal, but she stills herself and leans her ear closer to the slightly ajar door.

“ _The ocean has four: bacteria, virus-vi-viruses, pro-pro.. humph.”_

The couple shares a smile at her determined pout.

“Protozoa and phytoplankton?” Jemma whispers into the room and then leans back into the wall, a playful smile on her face and he daughter looks up and around the seemingly empty room. They hear her shuffles off the bed and look around, hazel eyes scanning in confusion. There’s no one here?

A snicker comes from the hall and Amelia’s face brightens. Quick footsteps run into the hall and she wraps her arms around her mother’s legs in delight.

“Found you! Found you!"

Fitz ruffles her hair and picks the young girl up. They walk with her back into the room and Jemma flips open the book, nostalgia of Doctor Who binges and all night cramming full the air.

Her fingers trace over the printed ink, bleeding and smudge beyond belief by her and Fitz’s hand.

“Where did you find this, Monkey?” Jemma asks, in awe of the book. She wasn’t sure anything from her past had made the trip to space.

“I’ll show you!” The girl shouts eagerly and attempts to hop out of her father's arms. He sets her down on the floor and she takes off down the hallway. Fitz and Simmons share a glance before speedily trailing after her.

The hallways seem to get longer and darker the farther they go and Jemma’s throat begins to close in worry. How could she have wandered this far? Who was watching her? Jemma glances over towards her husband and can see the same worry radiating from his features.

“Hey Amelia, I think it’s snack time,” Jemma calls after her but before she knows it, her daughter has dashed into a cavity in the wall.

When her parents catch up, they are met with a heavy metal door, only open enough for someone as small as Amelia to slip in. Having no choice but to go after her, they push the metallic door open and are met with an unbelievable sight.

A room, small and short, filled to the brim with books of all kind. Red, brown, and black books face the center, each stacked one upon the other and a metal desk rests in the center of the room. A few are scattered upon the floor, brighter white and blue ones open wide, calligraphy facing the ceiling.

 

Jemma circles the room slowly, dragging her fingers across the spines. A thick layer of ash covers her hands.  

Amelia hands a book to Fitz and he notices it’s the second edition of his engineering guide from the academy. He takes it from her palms and turns it over, analyzing the state and condition of the book. When Amelia sees he doesn’t get excited, she frowns and tilts her head as if she’s done something wrong. Immediately, the former engineer fixes his face and forces his lips to smile. He scoops his little girl up into his arms and walks her over to Jemma, who happens to be staring intensely at a wall. He stands beside her and his eyes widen at the sight.

Decades worth of plans and century-old pictures cover the walls, famous scientists hold inventions in photos next to a bulletin board laced with foreign writing. Red dashes and white thumbtacks are hidden beneath the photos, signs like question marks scribbled above them.

Jemma begins to move over and her eyes stop of a large set of graph paper. Fitz, still in awe of the detective-like board, doesn’t pay any mind to her movement.

“What. The. He-“

“Fitz, come look at this,” Jemma calls before Fitz can finish his thought. Snapping his head up, he makes his way over to Jemma and her face goes white. “These, these are-“

“My schematics.” Fitz finishes, he moves Amelia to his back and tells her to hold on tightly. With his hands free, the engineer brings the drawing closer to his eyes, attempting to fathom where the Kree could’ve found this.

Then, as if his mind wasn’t already racking, Jemma points to two more graphs on the wall, each slightly more worn than the next.

“These are the same papers. But Fitz, look here,” she points to messy scribbles in Fitz handwriting on the first one and the steady increase in writings across the rest.

“They know we’re in a loop?” Fitz says, more as a question than an answer. Jemma nods slowly.

“And they’ve been plotting an invasion since the thirties. Also, these are the same papers, yeah? Look at the increase in writing.”

Fitz’s eyes scan over his notes and then he realizes.

“We’ve been getting closer each time.”

“They’re trying to stop us.”

The couple turns their heads to face each other, stoic worry plasters across their faces. Hurriedly, they turn to leave but before they can exit the hallway, they are met face to face with two shadows of electric blue. They hold their spears in front of them and tilt their heads at the scientists. Jemma gulps down but manages to make her face as inconspicuous as possible.

“This zone is off limits.” One guard states, voice laced with poison and threat. Amelia buries herself deeper into her father's shoulders and face brings a comforting hand to the back of her head. He strokes her hair as soothingly as possible.

“Our daughter got lost,” Jemma states simply. “It won’t happen again.”

The other guard, taller and more intimidating, glares his eyes and takes a step forward.

“Kids need to be taught lessons.” He takes another step forward resulting in Fitz moving back, body hitting the door. Jemma steps in front of her husband protectively, eyes daring the men to come any closer.

The security exchange a look before turning back to the small family of three. Jemma tilts her chin up, swallowing down any fear in an attempt to display as much courage that she could manage.

It seems to work.

The men step aside, signalling for the family to leave. Fitz moves first and holds his daughter head close, hoping that he can protect her from the evil sight. Jemma’s sturdy footsteps follow after and she catches up. Behind them, the Kree shout a warning down the hall but too concerned with getting back to the bunk, it fades into the white noise of the otherwise silent hallway.

They sit Amelia down on the bed and stand in front of her, arms crossed and eyes serious. Jemma bends down to her level and softens her look when she notices the tears welling up in her daughters wide eyes.

“Amelia, you can’t keep running off without Mummy or Daddy, okay?” Jemma says. The small girl nods but looks away.

“I-I just thought that y-you might like the book.” Her voice hitches as she begins to cry and immediately, Fitz kneels down too. He places a hand on Amelia’s knee and looks at her sympathetically.

“We do like the book, Monkey. We really appreciate it but you can’t go off without us, it isn’t safe.” Fitz explains himself as softly and thoroughly as he can. The young girl nods again and wipes her eyes. She seems to understand but stays silent anyways. Unsure of what to do, Fitz offers the only thing he can.

“Want to get a snack?” He asks. “What about a nice, big, juicy orange?”

His daughter's eyes light up at that. She pulls herself off the bed, clearly eager to have a taste of her favorite fruit. Fitz takes her hand and places a quick peck to Jemma’s cheek before going to find the cafeteria.

Left with her thoughts and newfound knowledge, Jemma heads back to the lab. She rummages through the tables and through the trash before she finds it: the current duplicate of their plans.

She goes through them, scanning and making marks of her own. She knows how dangerous it is to pursue this, in a public area of all places. But what other choice does she have? If there is even a remote possibility of giving her daughter a better future, she would be a fool not to try.

 

xx

 

Fitz comes back to their bunk, eyes rimmed red and heart incredibly heavy. Jemma sits on the bed, a blue pen and graph notebook in her hand. The room is quiet and still but with one glance up from her notebook, all the air gets sucked through the cracks. Jemma sets her work down and props up on the bed. She folds her hands in her laps and looks towards her distraught husband in concern.

“Fitz?” She prompts him, trying to keep her voice as steady as she can. “What’s the matter?”

He drags himself into the room and stands right above his wife. He doesn’t speak nor does he look at her, not able to trust his voice and attempting to keep down the wave of tears. Jemma stands slowly and eases her hands up and down his shoulders. His body racks with sobs and Jemma can only pull him closer.

He sobs openly and with every wrenching cry, Jemma feels a pang in her heart. Her eyes turn wet with worry and she holds the love of her life close. She attempts to absorb him his smell, heartache, and tears. She wants to take it away, take it all away. Somehow, the door closes behind them and Fitz falls to the bed, gripping his wife as tight as he can.

In the palm of his right hand, a crumpled piece of paper falls to the floor.

xx

He first notices the familiarity when they’re sitting in the dining area. Amelia pokes through her food next to him and Jemma sits directly vertical on the other side of the table. She points at her daughters plate and tells her to eat and Fitz’s heart drops to his stomach. His brain begins to process the scene in front of him; His eyes take in the hefty amount of grey behind him and the plentiful amount of tables scattered about. With that one line, Fitz realizes it’s too late. He takes another bite of his meal and swallows his emotions.

Later that night, he grieves for what’s to come.

xx

_“Fitz, you know it’s not too late to fix this! The proof is here, we can break this loop!_

_“All I see if proof that we’ve tried, Jemma. We tried, okay? What we’re doing...it’s dangerous. We lost. Why can’t we just make the most out of our life now?”_

_“Because this isn’t a life! Fitz please, you can’t just give up on us now.”_

He steps closer to her and his eyes water.

_“Please,” he begs. “I can’t live in a world without you in it.”_

Suddenly everything makes sense and Jemma’s stomach turns at the realization. She doesn’t ask anymore questions.

xx

She lives in a world too harsh and too unforgiving. Metrics beep red around the room and she notices her’s is shaded in the most unlucky color. Everyone starts screaming and fighting, tables flip and bodies fly. She sees a fast figure heading towards her and somewhere along the lines, gunshots ring into the air. Amelia holds her hand to her heart as a cold sweat washes over her, only to pull away and see her hands the most pristine they’ve ever been. She looks around the room at the chaos but her eyes trail to the pool of blood that spills beneath her. Heart in her chest, she stumbles back.

Trails of crimson leak from Jemma’s lips and contrasts against her pale skin. Her body shakes and breath hitches. Amelia stands over her mother, frozen and afraid. It happened so fast, faster than they hoped, faster than they liked.

An ear piercing scream snaps Amelia out of it and she bends down over her mother's body, still warm, still pulsating. She cries and searches frantically for the source of the bleeding, just like the books said. But Jemma, dazed and dying, lifts her hand and brushes her daughter's cheek.

 _“Go,”_ Jemma demands, voice hardly above a whisper. “ _Go._ ”

Before Amelia can argue, her mother uses the last of her strength to nudge her away. Blue blobs make their way over and Amelia runs as far and as fast as she can. As her head turns back, the only thing she can see is her mother - her warmth, her light, her home - being dragged away.

xx

The bedroom is quiet and still as Fitz slowly moves to pick up his black satin tie from the unmade bed. Burgundy covers and dull sheets are tossed and tussled, various crumbs and wet stains seemingly embedded into the fabric.

Eyes blurry and hot, Fitz blinks away the restlessness of the sleepless night before, piles of salt buried in the mountains of pillows under his eyes, his bags darker and deeper than the bottom of the ocean. He reaches for the tie and twirls it in his calloused hands. Tossing his head back, he closes his eyes and takes heavy steps towards the mirror.

“If you keeping going at this rate, you’ll be late.”

Fitz removes his hands from behind his neck and turns to face the source of the soft, airy voice. He parts his heavy eyelids, revealing an ocean of azure and sighs deeply.

“Jemma…” He starts. She smiles brighter than the constellations, sparkling eyes fresh and glimmering. Fitz faces the mirror and watches as small, fair hands guide the long piece of cloth to his chest and around his neck. He admires her, her beauty, her grace, and swiftness, never parting his eyes from the mirror.

She fumbles with the tie, grunting occasionally and making a face when it refuses to go through the hole. Fitz stands by her side, frozen in place, paralyzed by the sound of her calm, unwavering voice. She looks younger, he notes, the years of worry lines etched in her face melted away, the burning memories of the unimaginable seemingly pulled from her skull. She stands in her wedding dress, white and lace. Fitz sniffs softly and a sense of relief washes over him, the quaint scent of peonies and dahlias mix with the natural radiance of a sterile lab and chamomile tea that emits from Jemma’s skin. The dress smells just like the garden, just like his vows. Honest. True. Forever. The dress smells like forever, he thinks.

She smooths the accessory out over his chest sending tingles down his spine. Her eyes look up towards him, but he doesn’t meet hers. He can feel her smile fall and she takes a step back, never breaking contact. Fitz sucks in a violent, ragged breath and his hands begin to shake with emotion and want. He closes his eyes and bounces his leg, a single tear rolls from his pale cheeks to the floor as he exhales.

“Fitz,” she whispers desperately. “Fitz, look at me.”

He shakes his head and mumbles to himself repeatedly, leaving her to only watch helplessly. Fitz turns and wipes his tears. His whole body begins to shake when a sudden surge of warmth meets his hands. Gentle, delicate, and forgiving hands encompass his.

 

Her hands. The right hands.

 

Finally, he brings himself to tear his gaze away from nothing, instinctively looking up to see his beautiful bride. He stares into the soul of her eyes and memorizes every feature. He notices her downy hair; dark and flowy with faint curls falling just past her shoulders, two braids splitting from the center of her head meeting again neatly at the back. The smile lines around her mouth and the slight wrinkle of her nose compliment the happiness hidden in her irises. Fitz almost swears he hears the joyous chirping of the robins and the restful tinkling of the waterfalls in the lush garden behind them.

She looks at him, her heart full of affection and her grin growing increasingly wide, he thinks she might hear it too.  

“I can’t do it, Jem, I can’t,” he whimpers.

She nods in understanding and runs a hand down his back.

“But you have to, Fitz. You don’t need me anymore.” She tries to smile, to be reassuring. Stubbornly Fitz shakes his head.

“That’s not true,” he interjects quickly. “I’ll always need you. _She_ still needs you.”

Rivers of tears roll now his face now. He sniffles and wipes above his lips with the back of his hand. His gaze falls again, he looks just past her and to the reflection of the floor in the full-length mirror. Jemma’s voice is thick again, but unwavering.

“She has you, Fitz. It’ll be okay.”

She smiles again, a loud, bright smile. Fitz can feel it, he smiles too. It’s weak and sad, and lonely but he smiles. Perhaps the first time he’s actually smiled in a while. It feels odd, it feels foreign. Jemma leans into Fitz's chest and listens to his heartbeat.

“Maybe we can move far away from here,” he half-jokes, bringing one arm around her side. “Somewhere with a yard, a fence, maybe we could get a pet.”

Jemma laughs. “Like a dog?”

“Or a monkey.” He almost sounds excited. She nods in agreement.

“Amelia could have a brother or sister!” she exclaims. Fitz lets out a content, airy breath. A full smile dances on his lips at the mention of his daughter.

They stand like that in silence for a moment. Though it’s not uncomfortable and heavy. It’s hopeful and tender. Warm hands lay between them as Jemma leans more into Fitz, resting her head on his shoulder. Maybe if they get close enough, it would be enough. Their fingers interlace and they both look up towards the mirror, everything as vibrant as the day they vowed.

“Maybe we can move somewhere far away from here,” Fitz mumbles again into her smooth hair. “Somewhere quiet, somewhere nice.” Jemma pulls back to look at him, she rolls her eyes playfully and shakes her head.

“I never liked the quiet before,” She murmurs softly.

Fitz prepares for a witty reply but there's a light tapping on the door. Without thinking, his eyes turn towards the sound but back again. When he does, he’s met with an empty room, a vacant mirror. The burgundy covers and tea stained sheets still lay restful on the bed behind him. The hum of the cooling system beats consistently and it is only then Fitz feels the true heaviness of how alone and how incomplete his life will be from now on. Swallowing the wave of emotion and the thought of the unimaginable future to come, he sighs and allows his feet to lead him to the pine door.

Twisting the icy handle, he opens it and meets face to face with his daughter. She’s just a few inches shy of him, though her semblance makes her appear smaller than she feels.

Her sharp browneyes glance around, unfocused and glassy. Long, dark, and frizzy curls float in the space around her, untamed and lawless. The white of her eyes is coated with a thin layer of red, much like her cheeks, hiding the field of freckles behind the harsh tint. She stands straight, skin ashen and pale, every curvature of her face makes her appear ghostly ill, casting a shadow across the once sunshiny features.

“They’re...they’re ready for us,” she trails, voice monotone yet, she sounds incredibly lost, broken. “Level 17.”

The teenager slowly turns to leave. The sight of her back leaving him breaks Fitz’s heart.

“Amelia…”

She takes another step and falls to her knees, body racked with tears. An estranged sob makes its way from her throat. She buries her head in her hands and cries. Immediately, he’s on the floor right by her side, heavy arms around her small body, tears trail down his cheeks as he attempts to absorb every aspect of her. He holds her as tight as he can and tries to push away the pain, the unimaginable.

They lay there. They lay there for a long, long time. It feels as though they’re walking through honey. Time seems to stand still, and nothing seems to be right - nothing is right.

“It’s not right.” She whimpers into the quiet. “It’s not _right_.”

He pats her hair and plants a kiss on the top of it.

“I know, monkey,” he whispers against her. “I know.”

Eventually, they stand and they walk. Shoulder to shoulder, he holds her arm the entire way there, unsure if he’s attempting to ground her or himself. They sit in the front row, a large picture of her shining brightly is plastered on an easel next to the closed, empty casket. Few people are left to show up to the service, and those who do come with gifts, wet eyes, and condolences. Two people stand and share stories, three more offer advice and words of comfort instead. Amelia sits next to her father, next to what’s left of her world, with a worn yellow piece of wrinkled notebook paper clenched in her hands. She glances down at the poem she wrote about the intertwining of death and science and stars and constellations and _forever_. She looks down at the stanza where she talks about the first law of thermodynamics and she wonders how could she ever fall into such a trap. How could one possibly ever believe in forever? Once, her parents gave her a speech about how every part of something will soon become something else, she thought it was true, motivational, even.

“Nothing ever truly dies, monkey,” her dad had said. “Everything you once had will always be with you, one way or another.” _In pieces, particles_.  

Amelia looks back to her dad and analyzes his blank face. She wonders if he still believes that.

They sit in the room until what could be the break of dawn. Fitz doesn’t move, he hasn’t moved, since the small service started. Amelia places a hand on her dad's arm and gently rubs it. He slowly withdraws his stare from the coffin and turns to face his tear-stained daughter. In the silent empty room, they turn to each other.

“Is it too late? Can we still break the loop?” Her voice is hoarse and tired. She hates how she sounds so helpless.

Fitz sighs. If he’s being positive and rational, it is still completely possible to break the loop. Everything predicted had come true thus far but, there was still time; a small gather of scientists attempted to work on the issue when the Kree weren’t lurking. They still have all the data and numbers to figure out a solution. But by his calculations, Fitz would be well over 90 for anyone to even run a practice test on the machine.

He looks into his daughter's eyes (his eyes, Jemma’s eyes) and shakes his head. He knows she could grow up to very well be an amazing scientist and carry this out after them. But every time Fitz focuses in on his daughters face, all he sees is Jemma. He sees her smile, he hears her voice. He pictures the sterile white medical room, the doctor covered in blue scrubs and blood stains holding up a beautiful, crying bundle of limbs and organs. He remembers the day she took her first steps and fumbled into her mother's arms. Jemma had knelt down - arms wide open to catch the curly haired toddler- her smile was wider than he ever seen before. Fitz smiles weakly at the memory and reaches out to hold his girl close.

“We’ll fix this,” he promises, nodding towards the enlarged picture of Jemma on the stand. “We’ll fix this, someday.”

Amelia closes her eyes and releases a deep breath. _Someday, she thinks_.

“Can you- will you tell me about Earth again?” Her voice is weak and quiet, she thinks she must sound so pathetic, but Fitz nods eagerly and smiles. He begins with the story of how they met in a lab, at a school, surrounded by a large field with a small, quaint river just a mile down the road. The story morphs into descriptions of oceans and waterfalls, butterflies and football games. He talks about what life was like with her before they lived in space. (Apparently, she used to love the ocean when she was three.)

Every item, however, is linked to a story about Jemma. She’s heard them all, he’s told them twice. But it doesn’t matter. She just lost something that’s been with her since day one, Amelia recognizes this. She knows her heart just needs to learn how to beat without an extra load. She just needs a little time to adjust.

So she sits and gets comfortable and listens. She closes her eyes and with a content smile, she imagines the ocean and the sky. She pictures herself with a dog in a house, a cottage perhaps,  surrounded by a field of daisies. She thinks of what it would be like to be happy, to be normal. She would come home every day to the small house, just a mile down the river. She would have a little brother, or a sister maybe. She’d have a golden retriever named ‘Monkey’ and they would go outside in the meadow and play until the sun came down, and when it did, her father would come and find her resting by the river. He’d bring her a sandwich or an orange and just sit with her and watch the sunset. They’d go home once the stars came out, her mum would be standing in the kitchen, glowing and beautiful, her sibling on her hip. The smell of dinner and cookies would swirl through the room. She’d be happy. They would all be happy.

In Fitz mind, as he recites all his stories, he thinks of the same. He thinks of the dogs and the cookies and the kids. He mourns a future that has yet to come. _We’ll fix this_ , he thinks. _Someday_.

After a while, Amelia slouches over her shoulders and falls asleep on his chest. His broken heart fills with fondness and he wipes a tear from his cheek. His eyes wander back to the hollow casket and beautiful picture of the love of his life. He meets her eyes and for a second, they twinkle and his hands feel warm. He weeps softly, careful not to wake his daughter. His beautiful, _beautiful_ daughter. The lights dim and the room cold, Fitz speaks aloud into the silence.

“I’ll fix this,” he promises. “I’ll fix it for her.”

And in the following silence, the strongest truth he has yet to speak lingers in the back of his mind. He kisses his little girl on the top of her head and mumbles sweet nothings to her in the lonely darkness.

xx

_She dedicated every day to you_

_She changed my life, she made my life worthwhile_

_And when you smile_

_I know a part of her lives on_

_I know I can go on_

xx

They stop trying to alter the future and begin learning to adapt. They live as normally as they can manage and they take happiness wherever it comes. Fitz had imagined a million different futures, with a million tragic endings. And yet, not one of them compares to the pain of this.

xx

Owen is different than the other guys in her class. He’s funny and smart and artistic. Maybe even a bit handsome, Amelia would admit. He leaves a lemon on her desk one night after the session with a note attached.

_Yellow, like the sun and beautiful like it too. Except, it would be alot easier to get to know you._

It’s corny and Amelia doesn’t get it but she holds it to her heart anyways. A true smile plays across her lips.

Months past and they become the best of friends. She teaches him science and he teaches her art. Somewhere along the lines, she learns the lesson of hope and persistence too.

xx

When he catches her in the forbidden hallway, Fitz is almost furious.

He hurriedly rushes Amelia into their bunk, a firm hand on her back and stern scowl on his face. He shuts the door behind them and throws his hands up in utter confusement and vexation.

“What _were_ you thinking?” He exasperates. “Do you know what could’ve happened?”

Fitz rubs a hand over his face as he attempts to fathom just what could’ve been going through her head. How could she go behind her back like this? Defy such powerful authority in such a way?

“I was just trying to help!” Amelia shouts back, throwing her own hands up in frustration. “ I just needed a minute, if you would’ve never called for me-”

“No.” Fitz cuts her off sharply. “You do _not_ get to put this on me. You know better than this Amelia. You are better than this.”

The crossed teenager rolls her eyes. _Not this again,_ she thinks. Fitz begins to lecture her on safety obeying orders; It’s the same talk she gets all the time and each time he just doesn’t _get_ it. Amelia tries her hardest to stay silent and listen to her father’s spiel but the longer he speaks the more infuriated she gets.

_“You are too smart to keep going at this Amelia!”_

She begins to tap her foot against the concrete floor, each thud growing louder every time.

_“Is it Owen? Is he dragging you into this?”_

The tips of her ears turn bright red. She releases a loud, over dramatic sigh, partially to catch his attention and prove her point, but Fitz still pacing the room and speaking aloud to really _nobody,_ continues his lecture. Amelia attempts to zone out again. A few more minutes, she thinks, just hold it together for a few more minutes

“And you never seem to listen, Amelia I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

That’s it.

“You just don’t get it!” Amelia yells. She yanks open the door and storms out. Clearly taken aback, Fitz pauses

He stands there dumbfounded by the outburst. Sure, he knows Amelia can get overly passionate and sure, he knows he give the same speech anytime something huge happens, but this? This he doesn’t understand. With his hand in his face and arm wrapped across his body, Fitz ponders what could really be the matter because _this_ , is bigger than he thought.

After a while he goes to her. She’s in her bunk sitting on her bed. Her fingers trace over the spine of the book and her eyes are hard, no less determined than they were before.

“You always talk about fixing the machines, fixing the future. Dad, this is how we fix the future!” She shoves him the book and prays he sees her, he hears her.

He shakes his head and tosses the book on the bed behind him.

“I’m saying _no,_ Amelia.” His voice is hard and unwavering.

Dismayed and to be truthful, a bit hurt, a fire lights back up in Amelia’s eyes and she picks the book up again.

“But you guys had it!” She shouts. “You and Mum had it! Look, it’s right here!” She attempts to show him the book again, even opening it and flipping through the pages.

The old smell of tea and red sharpie cracks into the air. Memories of late night binges and Sherlock Holmes arguments pass over Fitz’s head. A brief feeling of fullness washes through his body and for a second, he forgets where he’s standing.

He turns back to face his daughter and with a pitiful sigh, Fitz looks towards the floor.

“And look where we are now.” All anger from his voice fades and is replaced with solemn, hurt, and pain. His eyes water as he looks into his little girl's features, no longer little and no longer his, and she reminds him of everything that should’ve been: Bake sales and science, playgrounds and science, Jemma and science, Jemma and her family, a family.

Fitz steps closer to his daughter, she can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Please, Amelia,” He chokes. “I can’t lose you, I won’t lose you.”

Fitz steps closer to her, and he wraps his arms around her small frame. Suddenly hysterical, she melts into him, furious tears roll down her cheeks.

He murmurs into her hair, she isn’t quite sure what, but it soothes her. After a moment, she pulls back from her fathers, now tear stained, button up.

“I’m sorry Da, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She whimpers.

Fitz holds out a hand and cups her cheek. His thumb brushes away her tears and he hates how it doesn’t push away her hurt.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Please Amelia,” he starts, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I need you to be careful, especially with the Kree.”

He takes a deep breath and looks into his daughter's eyes, an exact duplicate of Jemma’s. Fitz shuffles his feet and looks towards the floor, unable to see her now without seeing Jemma, for he knows the second he looks up at those twinkling hazel eyes, he will break. His mind will shatter, his heart will ache. He will break, his hands will shake and his face will sob, a string of intangible emotions will spill from his lips, then he’ll get angry. Sad tears and shaking hands will turn into pure range and clenched fists. Everything around him will be destroyed: sheets ripped, vases shattered, spirits cracked. Fitz knows he isn’t grieving correctly, much less grieving at all.

It is easier to run from your fears than face them.

Fitz knows if he looks at her, if he breaks, he knows how incredibly small he’ll look, and he can not - will not - do that to his daughter.

“We will fix this, someday.” He promises. “But for now..”

He wipes his nose and gives her a quick, sad smile. Fitz places a kiss to the top of her head and rushes away without another breath.

The last of his words disappear into the air as he leaves and Amelia wipes her tears, left to wonder what he was going to say.

xx

Days morph into months and months morph into years. Amelia finds herself the head of whatever is left of the science division, of the rebellion, of S.H.I.E.L.D. She works in secret next to Owen in their makeshift lab. Her eyes glance over her parents old graphs and schematics, all smudged with blue and black ink. She stares at the writing and every warning her parents ever gave her plays in her head. She scoffs at it now, realizing that even if she can't fix it this time, doesn't mean she can't try. 

xx

The first time Amelia had heard the word 'dementia', she was nine. She sat upon her mother's bed late in the night with another forbidden book in her hands, the leather cover black and stained red. Imprints of dust and dirt covered the wrinkled, yellow pages and Amelia soon realized she hadn't picked out another science book. No, this book was different, it was special. The letters weren't printed on glossy pages in perfect 12 point font but rather handwritten, in cursive, maybe.

Her mother walked into the room and caught her with the book, mixed emotions of fondness and dismay on her face. Before Jemma could get a word out, Amelia apologized. Profusely. She came up with every excuse, every lie, she could think of. Lips spilling tall tales from ranging from "I found it in the closet," to "The teacher gave it to me for a project." Jemma brushed it off with a laugh, unable to help the feeling of amusement that overtook when she realized Amelia had inherited her lying genes. 

She took the diary from Amelia's hands and skimmed through the pages, noticing the young girl had made a few annotations of her own. About half way through, a word was circled and underlined in red. "Dementia."

Seeing the question marks surrounding the word, Jemma explained to her daughter the meaning, origin, and science behind it. Even telling a few treasured stories about her own grandmother, who suffered from dementia, in the process. It had been fascinating to hear about at the time. (Amelia was going through her neuroscience phase, after all.)

But now, as Amelia watches her father pace the floor, muttering to himself about late assignments, she wishes she couldn't be further from the word. 

The room is dark and quiet music plays on an old music box as Amelia sits in a metal chair. Her hands flip through an old photo album as Fitz mutters indistinguishably to no one in particular. She occasionally responds to him, but too captured by his conversation, he talks over her and excuses her. Amelia attempts to grab her father's attention with the book of memories to no avail. Wiping away a stray tear, Amelia forces herself to be strong.

xx

_"Dr. Webber is the worst, do you know how many times I've gotten out of group work? I don't see why he can't see from my perspective."_   
_-_   
_"I can't go today, I'm flying back home to see my Mum, I don't think she's doing too good._   
_-_   
_"How do you tell a girl you love her?"_   
_-_   
_"Do you think Ward really betrayed us?"_   
_-_   
_"I'm so sorry, this is all my fault."_   
_-_   
_"We can't change the future, we know because we've tried!"_   
_-_   
_"What should we name her?"_   
_-_   
_"Please don't leave me."_   
_-_   
_"You remind me of my daughter.”_

xx

She is destined to a future too ruthless and unrealistic for her. They sit in an empty medical room with one bed, one chair, and one light flickering above them. It dangles back and forth to the steady beat of the silent room. Tucked under white sheets, Fitz rests. His azure eyes are coated in glass and his lungs take about a single breath a minute. His mind isn’t what it used to be. 

Amelia sits at his side, elbows pushed deep into the scratchy sheets, hands in her face. Tears fall silently onto her arms and onto the bed, making a pool of tears right below her. She wonders where she went wrong, what she could’ve done to prevent this. A part of her, Fitz’s part of her, feels guilty. So incredibly guilty but the rarional scientist in her head reminds her that there was nothing she could have done differently to prevent a genetic disease. 

She almost laughs at the irony. They live in a dystopian society in a lighthouse in the middle of the milky way, ran by aliens. And her father, still the only thing that matters to her, rests in a medical bed ( the same medical bed she was born in ) with saggy skin and wrinkly fingers, his own head betraying him, yet again. Amelia puts her head down but only for a second. A weak, scratchy voice calls out into the room, barely above a whisper. Amelia adjusts herself and leans in close. 

“Da?” She whispers to the limp body. Fitz turns his head just slightly and parts his eye lids, face seeming to immediately pick up as he sees her. 

“Darling, you grew up.” He says smiling, brushing back a soft chestnut curl with his shaky wrinkled hand.

She takes his other hand in hers and smiles with wet cheeks, “I did.”

"It's a shame, it’s awful being a grown up.”

She strokes the back of his pale hand and he looks around the empty room, a single yellow light placed right above the bed shines on the two of them. He turns over and meets his daughter's wet eyes.

“Did we do it?” He whispers, voice withering. “Did we save the world?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please excuse the many mistakes towards the end. it goes uphill from here, promise ; )

**Author's Note:**

> comments + criticism encouraged  
> queensimmons on tumblr, I take prompts


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